Sweet Cream and Tupelo Honey
by BabyPups Whitlock
Summary: Sometimes the most decadent and sinful treats can come from the simplest ingredients.


**What I own: a cupcake print apron, a vast array of baking books and a cupcake print recipe box**

**What I don't: Twilight. Despite a strong resemblance I am not Stephanie Meyer, I just play in her sandbox.**

**A/N: This little ditty is my ATTEMPT to get my muse back from her round the world naked cruise. That evil bitch just doesn't want to come home. This has not been beta'd so any and all mistakes are mine and mine alone. Dedicated as always to my amazing ficwife Sky Chaser, she never fails to amaze me. Sorry if this makes you hungry bb! As always, reviews make m grin like a sugar junkie in a bakery and are rewarded with sneak peeks and panty flashes. **

The scents of spices and cinnamon hung heavy in the air, traces of creamy nutmeg, tart lemon and the rich, slightly bitter scent of freshly brewed coffee swirled around the large kitchen. I pulled open the doors of my industrial oven and was hit with a wave of vanilla tinged hot air. The tops of the cupcakes were perfectly golden. Slipping off one of my pale green oven mitts, I gently pressed an impeccably clean finger against the top of one of the cakes and watched as it sprung back into place. Perfect. Sliding the mitt back on I pulled the tray out of the oven and crossed the kitchen, placing it into the last remaining available shelf on my bakers rack.

I allowed my gaze to wander from the top rack to the bottom, taking in the veritable rainbow of cupcakes: Red Velvet, orange crème, lemon, pistachio, blue cotton candy, Black Raspberry, Strawberry and Deep chocolate in addition to the vanilla spice I had just slid into their cooling place. With a soft sigh I wiped the stray lock of hair that had fallen in my eyes as I glanced at the clock. Nine AM. I had been here for the better part of four hours and my shop has not even opened yet.

My eyes drifted around the kitchen and a smile tugged at my lips as I surveyed the chaos: flour was scattered along most of the flat surfaces, two pots of caramel sat slowly bubbling on the stove, pastry bags filled with meringue butter cream flavored to match the featured cupcakes sat lined and ready to be piped, bowls of chocolate ganache, fruit purees and curds cluttered the far counter and rich pasty crusts and airy profiteroles stood in perfect lines, awaiting their luscious creamy filling that was chilling in the walk in freezer.

Less than three hours from now and the hand painted sign on the door would be flipped to open. There was even less time than that before Mary Alice showed up. Wiping my flour coated hands on the stiff black cotton of my apron, I pulled the pastry cream from the walk in refrigerator the large bag already fitted with a coupler and pastry tip. Before heading back to the counter I paused in front of the docking station that cradeled my Ipod and quickly scrolled through the playlists, my fingers leaving dusty white smudges on the sleek, black surface. Within seconds the slow, sensual opening notes of 'The Lemon Song' flowed through the speakers that I'd had installed throughout the shop. A smole flittered across my lips as I continued my work, singing softly as I applied just enough pressure to the bag in my hands to fill the choux puffs with the sweet rich cream, the dark flecks of vanilla bean standing in stark contrast to the pale, rich cream base.

Once the cream puffs were filled I returned my attention to the sugar that slowly bubbled away on the stove top, as it bubbled and turned a deep, sweet amber. I watched the molten syrup as it reduced, entranced by the amazing transformation that was taking place in front of me. Quickly I removed the pan from the heat and, grasping a hand made sugar wisk, dipped the bizarre looking metal tool into the pot and proceeded to swing it back and forth in short arcs above the parchment covered rolling pin. Gossamer strands of sticky, molten sugar fell in golden threads across the pin, forming a sticky arches of crystallized sweetness when they set up.

Over the din of the guitars I heard the soft jingle of the bells over the front door.

"I'm in here Alice." I didn't even bother looking over my shoulder, focusing instead on the task at hand. I heard the familiar click of Alice's heels against the polished tile floor as she crossed the main shop and entered the kitchen.

"Holy shit Es, how long have you been here?" I chuckled softly at the sharp contrast of the obscene words spoken in my friend's melodic, sweet voice. Finishing up with the last of my caramel arches I smiled and turned to face her, before tossing the caramel pan in the deep sink. Alice's blue eyes twinkled as a smile danced across her elfin features. Shaking her head of short, black hair, she grabbed a spoon and dipped it in the chocolate ganache before placing it in her mouth. The happy sigh that was muffled by the spoon was a good thing and she gave me a wink before she slid by me, bustling around the kitchen, straightening, cleaning and tidying behind me and, perhaps most importantly, brewing the first of many pots of coffee for the day.

Two and a half hours later I had slid the last tray of pasteries into the glass topped display case and was reluctantly switching my playlist from my beloved rock over to the classical music that was favoured by most of my patrons. The kitchen was spic and span, the counters and surfaces shining, showing no sign of the flour covered melee that it had been earlier.

Alice was responsiable for the miraculous transformation of each and every part of my shop. Despite being only five years younger than me, her elfin figure and slight frame made her appear younger than her years, allowing people to underestimate the determination and ingenuity that was behind her sweet smile and gentle manner.

I watched her as she flitted around the shop, straightening a display jar here, arranging a vase of flowers there. This shop was my baby, my pride and joy. My years as a "Cream puff" at Johnson And Wales had paid off and I was a certified pastry chef. . While I could handle baking disasters and menu planning on my own, Alice was definitely the business end of our partnership.

As much as I loved working with the customers, my talents were better used behind the scenes, buried up to my elbows in flour, sugar, butter and eggs. I did, however, love to see the smliles on my customers faces as they bit into their dessert. I did take the time to greet my regular customers as often as I could and could tell, simply by what day of the week it was, what they would order. Most of the time, however, I could be found in my kitchen, my oasis. There was something magical about the measuring and mixing and stirring… all of the work that went into each handmade treat, it was my joy. Smiling softly I quickly swapped my white smudged black apron for matching pale blue one, handing Alice the white Belgian lace hostess apron that she wore every day.

"Thanks Boss Lady!" She placed a small kiss on my cheek before heading to the front door and flipping over the hand painted sign with a flourish. No sooner had she finished her action and returned to the counter than the door bells rang as our first customers of the day meandered in.

Time always seemed to pass quicker in the fall. By eight o'clock that evening nearly all of the trays in my display case were empty. Alice had left a few hours earlier, heading home to relieve her baby sitter and rock her two year old daughter Tanya to sleep.

There had not been a customer in over an hour. The days in Forks, Washington were getting shorter and a definitive chill had settled in the air. Late autumn in the Pacific Northwest was not exactly paradise. I stared out the front window of the shop, Main Street was dark, the rain slicked streets only occasionally lit by the headlights of a passing car. My customer friendly playlist was on it's sixth run through of the day and as much as I loved the Vitamin String Quartet I could only handle their melodies for so long. Smiling softly to myself, I headed back into the kitchen, my fingers sliding over the controls of the I-pod, increasing the volume as the sensual sounds of Led Zeppelin once again filled my ears, the heady introduction of D'yer Mak'er flowing through the speakers. My hips swayed automatically to the music as I gathered the white boxes I used to pack up any leftover goods I had at the end of the day for their deposits at the Forks Police Station and Forks General Hospital.

I rested the boxes on the counter opposite the display case and assembled them quickly, singing softly under my breath and lining them up before turning back to slide the display case.

"Holy Fuck!" I jumped back in surprise as the curse slipped from my lips as I took in the stranger standing in front of me. I knew I had never seen him before, his handsome face was definitely one I would have remembered.

"I'm so sorry about that, I didn't hear the bells over the music" The words tumbled from my lips as I fisted my hands in my apron. The man on the other side of the counter shook his head, his soft gold curls brushing against his defined jaw as a chuckle, low and deep, drifted to my ears.

"No need to apologize ma'am, I have heard far worse." The mans voice was smooth as Tupelo Honey, a slow southern drawl causing my knees to go slightly weak and I rested my hands on the cool glass. I mentally chided myself as I forced myself to meet his gaze.

"What can I get for you tonight?" My companion gave me a rakish smile and crouched down in front of the scarcely filled display case, his sparkling hazel eyes drifting over the treats that remained.

"What's this one?" A long finger tapped against the glass as he looked up at me awaiting an answer. Sliding the door open I removed one of the white crocks that sat on the cool shelf.

"This," I said with a smile, "Is a Banana Brulee, fresh bananas, vanilla infused custard and hardened sugar topping." The man across from me nodded, his eyes intently focused on the desert in front of him.

"That sounds amazing." I nodded slightly at his statement, far from modest about this particular recipe.

"It really is." With a smile I grabbed a spoon from the crystal glass that they were kept in and slid them both across the slick surface. "Here you are sir." The man reached for his wallet and I quickly shook my head. " No need, its on the house."

"Are you sure ma'am?" The thick accent and hint of a smile had my long neglected hormones to start dancing and I shrugged them away.

"Of course I am. If you hadn't come in it would have been dropped at the police department anyway, they don't exactly keep well. Please though, call me Esme, I'm far to young to be a ma'am"

"Well then Ma- Esme, I don't think that is an offer I can refuse." The mystery customer flashed me a grin and dug into the dessert in front of him, a small groan of pleasure rumbling in his chest. "Miss Esme that may be one of the best things I have ever tasted."

I couldn't help the wave of pride that surged through me and I beamed. "Thank you sir, I'm glad you enjoy it." I forced myself to keep busy, carefully packing the remaining pastries into their boxes, my eyes studying the baked goods as opposed to the man in front of me as he finished his treat.

" Now if I can't call you Ma'am then you can't call me sir." A smile lit up his face as he extended his hand to me. "Jasper Whitlock."

I responded in kind, his fingers rough and strong beneath my own. "Esme Platt. It's a pleasure to meet you Jasper."

He pulled his warm hand away from mine and finished the last bit of his dessert. "Likewise Miss Esme." Jasper ran a hand through his slightly messy curls and his lips cocked up in a half smile as he rested his spoon in the now empty crock and quickly glancing at the clock behind my head. "As much as I would like to stay and sample some more of your wares, I have a meeting to get too although I will definitely be back soon." With a playful wink and a quick wave, Jasper was gone as quickly as he came, the bells of the door ringing behind him.

I shook my head to clear the ridiculous haze that had settled over my mind and crossed to the door, flipping the sign over and turning the lock before flipping off the main lights. I made my way through the shop. The fairy lights that Alice kept in the window display year round providing barely enough illumination as I meandered through the kitchen, double checking the ovens and turning off the I-pod before finally slipping out into the cold Forks night, the memory of warm hazel eyes fresh in my mind.

**Pups fic rec corner: Today's tasty treat is a deliciously lemony little tale with an unconventional and AMAZING pairing. Permanent Press by the AMAZING ReadingMama. Doing laundry will never be the same I guarantee you. Go on over give it a read and review and don't forget to tell her Pups sent you!**


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